Perhaps it's...

Perhaps it's...obsession with beauty that I began to be almost...dehumanised. A decision to have those desired contours and streamline figure, or V-shaped torso, fuelled an ambition that on the one hand, seems unachievable. As encouraged by the media, a powerful word in this era has begun reshaping our minds. An era where being too indulgent in looking good and earnestly trying to hide any flaws found is perfectly acceptable but doing otherwise would be frown upon. It's hard to unlearn what has been learnt. It's better to re-learn for it'll overwrite what's previously stored in our mind. The process would be easier and more feasible. Thus the preferable option.

I see others succeed in living the 21st century dream. But I keep on failing, which makes me believe that I'm "not part of the human race." These thoughts have made me blind to those who are like me - the true people. The people who have tried and failed and felt broken. It was only after I met these people did I realise how human it is to be ugly. And that embracing yourself - no matter how unappealing you are and how difficult it is to do so - is the worst and best thing you have to do, sadly. Afterall, beauty is actually spelt as c o n f i d e n c e. So I'm relearning the meaning of beauty. I can no longer look at the word as its literal spelling. I have to look at its connotations. And that takes some maturity. Which I'm fervently trying.

Perhaps it's...boredom - and discontentment - with status quo that forced me to look beyond myself. To stretch that elastic self like a new condom for better comfort. Afterall, the skin is an elastic organ. To be comfortable in it is to leave some room for expansion. Thus the need to stretch it so that I can be comfortable under my own skin.

I once cursed myself for being the unfortunate one to inherit the zits and the not-handsome-at-all genes. But then again, I'm an unhappy bastard of many things. Like Jack who tried to be the master of all traits but ended up being the master of none, I tried everything I could get my hands dirty with and ended up failing and feeling fatalistic about my capabilities. I felt stupid for failing. But my real stupidity is feeling stupid for myself. This I only realised now.

I'm weaving in and out of depression. And like a sword dance of attack and retreat, I keep falling back and moving on. It's akin to luring someone I think. You cannot hail all that you've got on one night. You need to keep some for later nights (and days). Otherwise, you'll lose your target (or your prey).

Perhaps it's...being delusional. Getting my feet wet on acting has been one of the best thing I've ever done. Yet despite compliments and encouragement from friends, I still doubt my ability. Is this what I'm really good at or am I deluding it all? Of which would be perilous for my well-being. Could it be because of an actor's ego, who wishes to hear compliments and protect his pride? Or a voice inside being silenced. Or even conjured. My mental health depends on it. I yearn for acceptance which I already receive but not satisfied. Why would I be questioning then?

Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps...

Perhaps I have wronged myself. Perhaps I'm not good but think that I am. Perhaps it's a secret desire actually being materialised without me knowing it. Perhaps it's a hunger for obtaining perfection. Perhaps it's a thirst for fornication and committing adultery. Perhaps it's a joy wallowing in sorrow. Perhaps it's fun digressing from the rest. Perhaps it's oppressing an anger. Perhaps it's admirable making my own rules. Or simply perhaps it's just me going through a gestation period of adulthood. I don't know. Perhaps you do.

Love y'all